The Riverwoman’s Dragon
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: Owen Archer #13
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Severn House
- ISBN: 978-1-4483-0563-6
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Riverwoman’s Dragon». Краткое содержание книги:
When the wise woman Magda Digby is suspected of murder, Owen Archer sets out to prove her innocence in this intricately plotted medieval mystery.
May, 1375. Owen Archer returns from London to find York in chaos. While the citizens are living in terror of the pestilence which is spreading throughout the land, a new physician has arrived, whipping up fear and suspicion against traditional healers and midwives. With the backing of the new archbishop, he is especially hostile towards Magda Digby, the wise woman who has helped and healed the people of York for many years. At the same time, Magda is uneasy about the arrival of two long-lost kinsfolk. Though they say they are seeking her help, she senses a hidden agenda.
Magda’s troubles deepen when she discovers a body in the river near her home – and finds herself under suspicion of murder. Days later, fire rips through a warehouse in the city. Amongst the charred debris lies the body of a man – not burned, but stabbed in the back. Could there be a connection to the corpse in the river?
Determined to prove Magda’s innocence, Owen sets out to find answers – but the more he uncovers, the deeper the mystery becomes…
Lucie had, of course, offered him simple supplies, which he accepted with gratitude. His charity work touched her. Owen saw it as an extension of Michaelo’s nightly work among the poor in the minster yard, and guessed he might embrace it as penance, atoning for the pleasure he took in his reception in Prince Edward’s household, his reluctance to depart for home. Still, Owen, too, was moved by the gesture.
The archbishop’s letter had also motivated Michaelo. Neville had mentioned the poor who slept in the minster yard, claiming that they offend the dignity of the great cathedral and should be removed. He’d also chided the Abbot of St Mary’s for feeding the poor outside the gate and encouraging the ‘vermin city’. No wonder Brother Michaelo wished to assist in the apothecary so that he might be of help to the poor.
The letter puzzled Owen. Alexander Neville was known to be a litigious man, but King Edward had expected his brother Sir John to prevail upon him to temper his behavior.
Dom Jehannes’s letter to the archbishop was, in contrast, quiet, respectful, quoting the pertinent parts of Neville’s missive as he expressed his concern that news of it might lead the parish priests to preach against the very healers needed as the pestilence returned. He suggested the resumption of penitential processions in the churches on Wednesdays, as had been done in the last visitation of the pestilence to the great comfort and soothing of souls of the people of York. He also addressed the issues of the poor, pointing out that the letter had included no suggestions as to how the religious communities might perform their Christian duty of giving alms to the poor if the poor were banished. Or perhaps a letter would follow suggesting where the people might be relocated? He added that if the purpose was to keep the pestilence from the city, it was already too late.
As Michaelo had said last night, quoting the Sermon on the Mount, Beati mites quoniam ipsi possidebunt terram. Owen had disagreed with putting Jehannes in the category of the meek, thinking him rather fierce in his gentle righteousness. But he did see the point, the meek inheriting the earth having always suggested to him that the humbler, gentler path created a more lasting change.
‘Will you still go to St George’s Field today?’ Lucie asked Owen as they joined the throng leaving church.
He heard in her voice that she already knew the answer. ‘Do you want me to tell Jasper to stay here?’
‘No. I encouraged him because I thought the fresh air and the activity would be good, and that has not changed. He’s been shut up in the shop so much and likely will be so through the summer.’ Lucie looked up at Owen as he held open their front door. She touched his face. ‘But of course I worry. For both of you. And just as I understand why you must go, I feel we must allow Jasper to make his own choice.’
Her morning’s visits completed, Magda headed back to collect the donkey and cart, and then Helen and her family. Lettice’s tale of her marriage made her think of her own first love. Sten. He, too, had been handsome. Tall, strong, his wild dark hair worn long, often braided, rings in his ears, gold bracelets on his arms. A bard, he claimed to be, and a healer, a magician. How she had loved Sten, foolish young twig of a girl as she had been. Maggie, my love, we will sail the seas together. To the ends of the earth we will sail, collecting rare plants, gems, spices, and magical creatures for healing and transformation. She laughed to herself, remembering how his descriptions carried her away on dreams of exotic lands. Lettice’s expectations for her marriage had been as foolish, considering Matthew. In all the years Magda had known of him he’d demonstrated neither the cleverness to move beyond common labor nor the ambition to better himself. Their children had married better men, though humble, thanks to Lettice’s reputation as a hard worker. Magda and Sten’s children were the only beauty resulting from their passionate union. Yrsa, kind, clever with her hands, winning the eye of a carpenter in Scarborough. Kind, that is, to all but her mother, whom she blamed for Sten’s desertion with her twin Odo. Magda had not corrected her, did not try to explain that Sten had proved to be a lazy dreamer who lost his passion when his charms were not enough to coax coin from wary customers.
At the dip in the forest track that marked the path to the sanctuary – a path invisible to those who did not know to search for it – Magda was glad to see no sign of passage since she had covered her tracks in the morning. Lettice was safe as she could be for now, and while walking Magda had come up with a plan that would give the frightened woman more ease in the sanctuary while also providing shelter to the expectant mother and her family, including her crippled husband. Humming, Magda continued on, looking forward to a cup of ale and a bowl of the stew she carried in a pot in her otherwise empty basket, made by the daughter of an elderly patient she knew to be a fine cook.
Jasper chose to accompany Owen, remarking as they walked what a help Brother Michaelo proved, comforting folk as they stood in line and smoothing tempers. The monk had stayed to provide the same service to Lucie. ‘I admire him for his willingness to help the poor, but I’d doubted that he could provide much comfort. This morning he proved me wrong. He says it is a penance and a practice of humility,’ said Jasper, ‘but I believe God called him to this, as he did Brother Wulfstan long ago.’
Not so long ago, in Owen’s mind. Not long enough. God be thanked Lucie needed Jasper in the apothecary or his son would be out ministering to the sick as well, as his mentor Brother Wulfstan had done. Blessed work that took his life.
‘I pray he is sturdier than Brother Wulfstan,’ said Jasper.
‘I believe Brother Michaelo has reserves of strength we never guessed,’ said Owen. Indeed, Michaelo continued to prove himself a talented, resourceful man who helped in innumerable ways. He had promised that after Jasper returned from archery practice he would do some sleuthing among the parishes regarding the perceived orders from the archbishop.
Jasper shifted the conversation to memories of the first time Owen had taken him to practice at the butts, his hair colored a bright red, his clothes padded to disguise his shape. That time the danger had been from a fellow man, the sort of danger Owen understood. Yet he had failed to protect Jasper.
Wishing to speak of something less troubling, Owen described Einar, recruiting Jasper’s help in observing him should he appear.
The day was overcast, but with a subtle warmth beneath the cool of the morning that promised sunshine later. Owen hoped the cloud cover lasted through the practice so that he need not squint with his one good eye. He would prefer not to make a fool of himself adjusting another’s aim.
At first attendance was sparse, but within an hour Owen glanced up while training a particularly challenged young man to see that at least half the usual complement had arrived. He called to Jasper to take over with the young man. Having begun his training with Owen at eight years, his son was now an accomplished bowman with strength and a refined technique.
‘Before you go,’ said Jasper, ‘I wondered if that is Einar.’ He pointed out a young man just arriving, making his way through the crowd, pausing to look round.
‘Good eyes,’ said Owen.
‘I should like to meet him,’ said Jasper.
Owen lifted an arm, motioning to Einar to join him. The young man hurried through the crowd, at the last moment ducking a stray arrow.
‘Dangerous out here,’ said Einar. ‘But I see far more capable bowmen than I’ve seen elsewhere. You’ve led them long, Captain?’ He seemed easy in the crowd. Whatever his reason for running from Magda, it was not that he was being hunted in the city.
‘I’ve had the training of them for over ten years, when I am here,’ said Owen.